


The Shopping Trip

by Tezla



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Shopping, Thor does not 'shop', Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tezla/pseuds/Tezla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have read several stories in which various Avengers go shopping, and actively appear to enjoy it. I can only assume that this is some kind of female fantasy, because the thought of shopping gives most of the men I know the jitters. In my experience, it happens a bit more like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shopping Trip

“Really,” said Bruce in a flat tone of voice. He stared at the offending piece of plastic sitting on the table, and poked it with a pen.  
  
“Just a few things,” said Tony. “Because you do tear through rather a lot of shirts.”  
  
And jackets, pants and shoes, thought Bruce. But really, shopping. Going out and buying stuff before you actually needed it just seemed kind of wasteful. “Huh,” he said, because it seemed the most diplomatic response.  
  
“It’s just a credit card. It’s not going to explode if you touch it. Just, you know. Buy stuff. Call it business expenses if it makes you feel better.” Tony shrugged and slid off his stool, and walked towards the kitchen door.  
  
“Aren’t you coming with us?” asked Bruce, looking to Steve and Thor for support.  
  
“Hell, no,” said Tony. “If I need anything, I just get Jarvis to get stuff delivered. Anyway, I’m kind of busy right now. So, if you don’t mind....”  
  
“Right,” said Bruce. “Better get this over with.”  
  
“I do not ‘shop’,” said Thor, annunciating the word as if trying it out for size. He turned and walked out, but Bruce couldn’t help notice that he kept his credit card.  
  
“Steve?” asked Bruce.  
  
“I guess,” shrugged Steve. “How difficult can it be? And we’ve got that press thing later.”  
  
Half an hour later, Bruce and Steve were in the middle of a large department store. Bruce had already forgotten which. He did catch a glimpse of the name on the way in, but that was five minutes ago, and that’s a long time in retail. He moved a little closer to Steve for moral support. With the noise and lights and bright colours, it was a threatening place: a brash, alien jungle, unfamiliar to either of them. It smelled oddly of plastic and warm cotton, and maybe some kind of solvent. They were surrounded by chatty women, but they were definitely in the menswear section because he could see boxer shorts.  
  
Women didn’t wear boxer shorts these days, did they? Bruce wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the fashion now. He wasn’t going to ask.  
  
“Do I need a basket?” asked Steve.  
  
“I guess,” said Bruce. “I’ll get one, too.”  
  
They walked over to the nearest part of the men’s underwear section.  
  
“What are these?” asked Steve. “I...”  
  
“Well, they’re not boxers, and they’re not briefs. There’s a picture, see.”  
  
“Boxer briefs?” asked Steve, reading the label.  
  
“Apparently,” said Bruce. “Do you want them?”  
  
“How would I know? I, er, I’m just going over here.” Steve backed away from Bruce in a manly fashion, so Bruce didn’t mention he was heading towards a sign that said ‘Thongs’.  
  
Bruce sighed to himself and grabbed a bunch of the most innocuous-looking underwear he could find, vaguely checking the packets to make sure that they were the right size. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Steve was doing something similar. He looked at his watch and tried to calculate at what point it might seem okay to break for coffee.  
  
“Shirts, Steve?” Bruce called across the floor to him.  
  
“Okay,” said Steve, peeking over the top of a display stand.  
  
The place seemed to have warmed up in the last few minutes. Bruce could feel a trickle of sweat start to inch its way down his forehead. This meant that there was no way he’d be able to try any shirts on. Thinking about it, he could feel the damp patch on his back, and he knew that wasn’t pretty.  
  
Last time he’d transformed back anywhere near human habitation, some woman from Queens had offered to come over to Stark tower and give all of them a free waxing. All of them.  
  
They made their way towards the shirts aisle, via nightwear, slippers, shoes and formal wear. With every step, Bruce could feel his will to live and self-esteem ebbing away. Steve just looked kind of stoic. Bruce had a brief mental image of Steve facing certain death, and momentarily enjoyed the fantasy of Steve driving a motorcycle and side-car straight through women’s’ hosiery and into the cafeteria. Apparently, they did a really nice lemon drizzle cake. Surely Steve could be persuaded.  
  
Confronted by a floor-to-ceiling display of shirts that seemed to span the entire width of the shop, Bruce opted for starting somewhere in the middle, mostly because he could see something purple, and someone said he looked okay in that.  
  
A shop assistant sidled up to him. “Can I help you at all, sir?” she asked.  
  
Bruce looked around for Steve, only to find that he was nowhere to be seen.  
  
“Er,” he said.  
  
“What kind of shirt are you looking for, Sir?” asked the assistant.  
  
“A purple one?” Bruce said. “And maybe a couple of blue ones,” he added, starting to feel like he was on firmer ground.  
  
“Dress, business, formal, or casual? Long- or short-sleeved? Would you prefer a button-down Oxford, or regular suit shirt? Cotton, linen or poly-blend?”  
  
Bruce could feel the muscles in his jaw start to tense. He looked around for the answer.  
  
“Like that one?” he said, pointing at the first shirt he saw when he walked in. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Steve, treating the shirt displays as if they were plants barring his way in a jungle. Bruce had another mental image, this time of the film ‘Apocalypse Now,’ except he was pretty sure that that film didn’t have any wistful-looking young male shop assistants in it, following Martin Sheen around with a tape-measure. Or maybe it did. It would have been difficult to tell in the jungle.  
  
“Sir?” asked the shop assistant again.  
  
People do this for fun, Bruce reminded himself. Pepper will pee herself laughing if she finds out about this. Tony will pee himself laughing if he finds out about this. Suddenly, Bruce had the answer. Do what Tony would do in this kind of situation. Fake it.  
  
“What are you, like, a forty?” the assistant asked, “or forty-two?”  
  
“I’m forty-four,” he replied, wondering what that had to do with anything.  
  
Five minutes later, or maybe it was several years, Bruce had several shirts in his basket. Steve re-joined him, his basket also laden down with shirts.  
  
“Everything in your basket is white,” said Bruce, apropos of nothing.  
  
The look Steve gave him clearly said, ‘the sooner we get this done, the sooner we get home.’  
  
It took hours.  
  
“My friends,” said Thor, later that evening, “why do you not buy things the way your mighty female warriors do?” He smiled at them, but still managed to look a little confused at the same time.  
  
Bruce and Steve both looked confusedly back at him.  
  
Thor slumped down next to them on the couch, and turned his tablet so that they could see it. One large finger mashed at the screen and opened up one of his Favourites on his browser.  
  
“See here,” he said, proudly. “Darcy has introduced me to the mighty Amazonian wish list.” And yes, the screen did indeed display Thor’s Amazon wish list.  
  
“I list items here, I click this, and they will arrive,” he added, confidently.  
  
“Hello Kitty?” asked Bruce.  
  
“Darcy,” said Thor, which was his excuse for nearly everything.  
  
“Also, I have a personal shopper,” Thor added.  
  
“Tomorrow,” said Bruce, “remind me to set up a clothes order with Jarvis. And Jarvis,”  
  
“Yes, Sir?” said Jarvis.  
  
“Have this Hello Kitty thing sent to Tony. He deserves it.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Excellent,” said Thor. “We can co-ordinate.”  
  
Bruce’s facepalm meant that he missed Thor’s proud expression entirely.


End file.
